


It’s a Trap

by Descarada



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Geraskier, Good Parent Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier Courts Geralt, Jaskier is an Academic Witcher Expert, M/M, Matchmaker Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Professor Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:22:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24264283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Descarada/pseuds/Descarada
Summary: Jaskier is a professor at Oxenfurt and enjoys a reputation as the continent’s foremost expert on witchers. However, he’s never actually met one. That is, until the day Geralt of Rivia shows up at his office.Geralt believes he is being plagued by a curse. When Jaskier visits the grumpy witcher's house and meets his daughter Ciri, the pieces fall together.  He is instantly charmed by the devoted father, and resolves to court him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 164
Kudos: 835





	1. Professor Pankratz Meets a Witcher

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic as one chapter initially back in May, and was focused entirely on Geralt's experience as a parent and Jaskier being a supportive friend who was obviously also attracted to him.
> 
> But now after a few extremely sweet requests from commenters, and some inspiration I'm back with a few more chapters for you, including Ciri being determined to get these two together, and Jaskier courting Geralt. I hope you enjoy. <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt cleared his throat. “I’m just so ignorant.”
> 
> “Look. So am I.” said Jaskier. “Before I came here, I thought witchers were enigmas. Unknowable.”
> 
> Geralt chuckled and wiped his eyes.
> 
> “But you’re just a big old mess. Like any new father.”
> 
> “Yeah.”
> 
> “I know they do trials that are supposed to dim your emotions. Perhaps you should notify them that the trials are defective.”
> 
> Geralt’s shoulder shook with laughter again. Jaskier joined him. He laughed until his sides ached.

Professor Pankratz was Oxenfurt’s leading expert on witchers. There was just one problem. He’d never actually met one.

That’s why people dismissed academics: all book learning, no life experience. But there was value in musty books and ancient artifacts. Someone had to make sure the old knowledge on witchers didn’t disappear, so Jaskier rescued and guarded it. He bought raggedy manuscripts from second hand markets. He acquired cracked relics from shipwrecks. He snapped up forgotten tomes from estate sales. There was no substitute for the old knowledge. But he knew it was incomplete. Some riddles can’t be solved with your nose in a scroll.

Jaskier did want to meet a witcher. One interview and his research would be improved immeasurably. He’d have more stories to regale his students with. He’d be more confident in his academic contributions. He kept a ledger with questions handy, in case he ever had the privilege of interviewing a witcher.

However, attrition via monster attacks and mobs with torches had caused a regrettable shortage of them. And the ones left were understandably insular and distrustful. He’d written to the old keep at Kaer Morhen requesting an interview with any witcher there. But his letters had gone unanswered. He’d rushed out to any local town rumored to have a witcher on contract. He never seemed to get there in time. He’d almost given up.

Then one spring afternoon, Jaskier returned to his office to find a witcher waiting for him. His silver studded armor and conspicuous weaponry felt anachronistic in the stuffy narrow hall. It was like the man had ridden in from a fairy tale. Jaskier imagined a unicorn steed waiting patiently in front of the building. He pressed his lips tight to dissuade a delighted smile.

A witcher. Fallen into his lap.

A witcher who looked like that.

Jaskier hadn’t believed a single word of records describing witchers as evil, stinking, or mangey. He was a man of science, and he knew superstition and bigotry when he saw it. But he hadn’t gone so far as to imagine witchers as devastatingly handsome. This man’s body looked carved from marble. His fitted black clothing contrasted strikingly with his white hair and golden eyes. He looked mythical.

Jaskier approached him eagerly, hand out. “I’m--”

“Professor Pankratz,” said Geralt. His voice was more melody than words, low and rumbling.

“Please. Call me Jaskier. Pleasure to meet you.” He shook the witcher’s cool hand. The man’s grip was firm but not overbearing. His hand was soft other than a whisper of callus on his palm. Jaskier held it just half a beat too long.

“I’m Geralt,” he said. “Geralt of Rivia.”

“The famous white wolf, yes.” Said Jaskier. “Please, do come in.” He opened the door.

Geralt grunted as he passed the threshold. “No one calls me that.”

Jaskier had come up with that name, and he liked it. Academics tended to give their subjects of study nicknames, especially when deep in ale discussing their latest paper with colleagues. Geralt’s white hair and residency at the School of the Wolf made that the obvious choice. Apparently it hadn’t spread beyond the university walls. It would. Just you wait, wolf.

“Of course, my mistake,” Jaskier said and clasped a hand to his heart. “Deepest apologies.”

“Hmmm.”

Did witchers grunt half of their thoughts? If so, Jaskier would need to add a grunt based language to his repertoire and curriculum vitae. Maybe it was just this one, though. Maybe the white wolf was just a grunter.

“How may I help you, good sir witcher?” He asked, gesturing at the seating area in the corner.

Geralt lowered himself into an antique leather chair and leaned forward with his elbows on his thighs. Jaskier noticed dark circles under his eyes.

“I’m here because you’re the most renowned scholar on witchers, an area of study that is dwindling,” he said.

Hearing himself described as renowned by an actual witcher was an ego boost he probably didn’t need, but certainly appreciated. Jaskier dipped his head reverently.

“Consider me at your service, good witcher.”

“I hope you can help.” Geralt said. “I have a problem and I’m too far from Kaer Morhen to just ask Vesemir about it.”

“Oh yes the famous Vesemi—-”

“Are you going to keep doing that?” snapped Geralt.

“Sorry,” said Jaskier. He mimed locking his lips and throwing away the key. “Please do go on.”

Geralt closed his eyes and rubbed them. “Sorry. I’m just exhausted. I’ve been having symptoms of magical interference. Fits. Visions. Nightmares. I haven’t slept well in months. It’s why I’m here.”

Jaskier wasn’t clear on how that related to him. He was no magician. “Have you had a mage read you for spell traces?”

“Yes. There were none.” Said Geralt, sounding defeated.

“A physician then? For the fits? Nightmares and fits are common when a person is subjected to extreme violence.” Jaskier tried to be tactful but it was true. Witchers were still human and violence must still affect them, dulled though their empathy was through the trials. And their lives were full of it.

Geralt growled, frustrated.

“I do not need a physician. What would a physician know about a witcher? At any rate, I know what’s normal for me and this is not normal. This is not mere physiology.”

“I see,” said Jaskier. “And what would you like from me? A humble man of letters?” He crossed his legs and looked attentively at the witcher.

Geralt shrugged hopelessly. “You know about witchers. Maybe you know about curses or hexes that can affect us specifically. Or even substances that repel us. Anything. This has to stop. I’m desperate.”

Jaskier got up to fetch a quill and parchment. Honestly he had no idea what this could be. But he wasn’t going to turn down the chance to work with a witcher. Even a grumpy one. His best move would be to gather more information and hope something came to him.

“I’ll just need some detail.” He spread the parchment out onto the low table between them. He dipped the quill and poised it over the parchment. “What kind of visions are they? What do you see?”

Geralt slumped back into the chair and waved his hand carelessly. “The details aren’t important.”

“They could be. I would suggest you don’t dismiss that entirely,” said Jaskier, diplomatically.

Geralt was silent.

Jaskier didn’t know how to make him speak, so he tried another question. “Ok. Let’s move to the nightmares then. What do you remember of them?”

Geralt shifted and the old leather creaked. He picked at the studs along the arm of the chair with a fingernail. Were it one of his students, Jaskier would have scolded him for scratching the supple lambskin. But he let the witcher be. This was starting to feel like a situation that required a delicate approach.

“As I said.” Geralt repeated slowly. “The details aren’t important. What’s important is that some kind of magic has penetrated my mind and is manipulating my thoughts. I need to find out what it is and stop it.”

A large drop of ink fell from Jaskier’s quill onto the parchment, marring it. He’d been hovering too long.

“And you’re having fits?” he asked. “Surely you can tell me about those?”

“Yes.” said the witcher, absently rubbing his sternum.

Well at least there was that.

“What are they like, then?” urged Jaskier. He gave an encouraging smile.

The witcher seemed to be searching for words.

“Irritating.”

This was like helping a cat remove a stuck claw from a quilt. Geralt obviously needed help, yet he insisted upon growling at him and resisting his efforts.

Jaskier replaced the quill in the pot and held his palms up in surrender.

“How can I help you if you refuse to share details? It’s an honor to assist, I assure you, but how can I do so if you keep me in the dark?” asked Jaskier.

Geralt insisted, “I’m telling you that part isn’t important. I know what’s important.” He crossed his arms.

“That’s fine and good, sir witcher, but I need something to go on. You don’t solve a problem with no data.” Jaskier said.

Geralt thought for a moment, then brightened. “Come to my cottage.”

Jaskier tamped down the surge of pleasure. Had that pleasure been caused by the prospect of seeing a witcher in his natural habitat? Or was it related to a gorgeous man inviting him to come? To his cottage?

“Your cottage?” Asked Jaskier. He felt breathless but managed those two sturdy words.

“Yes,” said Geralt, latching onto his idea now with conviction. “Perhaps there are clues there. Hexes I missed. Substances I overlooked. You can walk around. Maybe you’ll find something.”

Ok. A professional call then.

“Whatever I can do for you in return, I’m willing,” said Geralt. “I’m desperate. I need to figure out a way to get some godsdamn sleep.”

Ten minutes ago, that offer would have sent Jaskier diving for his research and list of interview questions. But now that he’d met the witcher (and looked at him, and heard his voice), ‘ _Whatever I can do_ ” and ‘ _I’m willing_ ’ provoked a much different urge in him. It occurred to Jaskier that there were many alternate ways to relax a man enough to put him right to sleep. Maybe if he found nothing amiss at Geralt home, and the witcher needed more suggestions, he would offer them. For science of course.

Regardless, this was a boon. Jaskier would see weapons. Relics. Everyday practices of witchers. He’d learn more in a day in Geralt’s home than he had all of last year in the library.

“That’s a fantastic idea,” said Jaskier. “I can’t come today because I have a class now. But I’ll visit tomorrow in the afternoon before my evening lecture. How’s that?”

“Perfect,” said Geralt.

The witcher smiled for the first time. It looked good on him. Jaskier smiled back. Geralt of Rivia needed Jaskier’s help. And he was damn well going to get it.

\-----

The next day was another clear spring day and the scent of wildflowers infused the air. Jaskier put on a vibrant teal doublet and trousers. He knew the color drew attention to the natural pink flush in his cheeks and lips. He set his wire rimmed glasses on his nose. He didn’t need them to see, but presentation was important. People trusted a professor with spectacles. He ran his hands through his hair, and spritzed on a tasteful amount of perfume. Perfect.

Geralt’s directions were to a cottage a decent ride east of the city. There were a few wagons that went out that way. Jaskier bought a ticket and was there in an hour.

Geralt was splitting wood in the front when Jaskier arrived. Even from a distance, his physique was impressive, rippling as he brought the ax down. As large as the man was, he was even more powerful than one would expect. He cleaved through the wood like a knife through hot butter. Then he flipped another log onto the stump with nimble fingers, steadied it, then slammed back down with his ax.

To the casual observer, it would have looked like Jaskier had tripped on his feet. However, there had certainly been a brick in his path. Perhaps a stone. A pebble at minimum. Thankfully he righted himself by the time the witcher noticed him. Geralt walked over to open the gate. He was wearing a sleeveless undershirt and glistened with sweat. Stray strands of his white hair had slipped from the tie.

“Professor,” he said, and reached out to clasp his hand. Jaskier shook it. Geralt plastered the stray tendril back onto his head. “Sorry. Sweaty.”

“Ah yes, it’s no problem. Also, please. Jaskier.”

Geralt looked at him curiously, as though something had taken him by surprise.

“Yes?” Asked Jaskier.

“Nothing. Nothing.” Said Geralt.

“Well now I must know.” Said Jaskier.

“It’s just. I could have sworn your eyes were blue.” Said Geralt. He quickly turned away towards the cottage. “So yes. This way.”

Jaskier blinked.

“Ah yes. They’re kind of both. Depends on what I’m wearing.”

“Ah.”

Jaskier hopped to follow behind the witcher. The view from there was just as fine as when he was in front of Geralt. Seeing the witcher at work in the yard had demolished Jaskier’s professional restraint. He openly stared at Geralt’s ample muscular ass, secure in the fact that there was no one else around for miles to see him do it.

His reverie was interrupted when they arrived at the door. The cottage was clay and wood with a thatched roof. It was modest but well built. Jasker wiped his boots and crossed the threshold. It felt cavernous on the inside. The lower story was one large room with a stove in the middle. A flight of stairs on the back wall led to a second story. Jaskier was already eyeing it looking for the bedroom. One had to visualize one’s goals.

“Ciri, we have company,” called out Geralt.

“Ciri?” asked Jaskier. _Who was Ciri?_

A little girl with bouncy blonde hair and fair freckled skin bounded down the stairs. Geralt lit up like the sun. Did Geralt have a daughter? Why didn’t Geralt mention he had a daughter? Oh gods had she seen him ogle her father’s ass? Jaskier’s eyes darted around quickly to see if any windows faced the path up.

“Hey!” she said brightly. “Welcome! ! We don’t get many visitors.” She pumped Jaskier’s hand enthusiastically. She was Geralt’s opposite. Tiny. Effervescent.

“It is my pleasure indeed,” said Jaskier. He bowed low. “Pleasure to meet you, young lady.”

She pinched her trouser legs and dipped in a faux curtsy. Then she looked at Geralt.

“He’s pretty.”

Geralt smiled softly and did not look at Jaskier. “Yes he is.”

Well. That was a welcome turn of events.

“You didn’t _say_ he was pretty.” Said Ciri.

Jaskier smiled conspiratorially. “He didn’t mention he had a charming daughter, either. He leaves out the most important details, doesn’t he?”

“He does.” She agreed. “And sometimes he just grunts.” She nudged Geralt playfully.

“Well,” said Jaskier. “Let's see if we can break him of that. I’m sure once he gets going it’ll be nothing but poetry and compliments for the two of us.” 

Ciri nodded sagely, “I’m sure.”

“Ok, ok that’s enough of that,” said Geralt. He pulled the girl in and kissed the top of her head.

Jaskier was truly charmed by the sweet child and the cozy home. And the broad witcher, who was now looking at the child as though she had hung every single star. But he did have a lecture to get back to, so he’d better try to be of some help.

“So. Geralt. Is there anything in particular I should be looking for?” He asked.

Geralt considered. “Not really. That’s what I was hoping you could tell me.”

“Ok. Where would you like me to start?” Jaskier surveyed the room. It looked like there was a garden in the back as well and some kind of training course.

“Anywhere,” Geralt said.

So Jaskier began. He systematically worked his way through the house and the property. He looked through the cupboards. Rooted through the cellar. Walked through the training course in the back. He found nothing out of the ordinary. Definitely nothing that could be causing trouble for a witcher. He saved Ciri’s room upstairs for last, because he felt bad disturbing her.

“Sorry to bother you, darling.” He poked his head in.

She was laying on her bed reading.

“It’s no bother. It’s fun to have someone here.”

“Well, I hope I can be helpful. But to be honest I’ve seen nothing out of the ordinary. And Geralt is not forthcoming with details, as we discussed.” Jaskier said.

She nodded sympathetically.

“What about you dear child? Have you noticed anything different over the past few months? Magics? Visitors?”

“No.”

He felt a bit deflated. He was in the last room, and information from Ciri was his last resort.

“Sorry,” she said.

“Oh, it’s quite alright,” said Jaskier, and he offered a reassuring smile.

“I mean I’ve only been here a few months, so I wouldn’t even know.” She said.

Jaskier’s mind roiled. Why would Geralt’s daughter have only lived here a few months? Oh yes. Witchers were infertile. This was a child of destiny. A child of surprise. And a new arrival at that.

“Well, thank you Ciri.” Jaskier turned to go.

“Can you help him?” Ciri asked. “He won’t even tell me what’s wrong. But he’s tired. And he’s barely been eating.” Her voice was tinged with worry. Jaskier hated to see a child carrying such worry.

“That remains to be seen, I’m afraid.” Said Jaskier. “But I promise I’ll do everything in my power.”

That seemed to put her somewhat at ease.

Jaskier descended the stairs to the floor level. Geralt was sitting at the large wooden farm table furiously peeling carrots, his brow furrowed. When he noticed Jaskier, he looked up hopefully.

It was remarkable. He was like a different man here in his cottage with his daughter.

“You find anything? You know as you were looking around, I thought of something. I’ve never really used spices on the road. But I bought a large jar of paprika at the market a few months ago. I wonder if paprika is hostile to Witchers.”

Oh boy.

“That’s probably just an allergy,” said Jaskier gently. He gestured to the chair next to Geralt. “May I?”

“Have a seat,” said Geralt. He put down the carrot and peeler and wiped his hands on his trousers.

Ciri’s voice floated downstairs.

“Have you offered him a drink, dad?”

Geralt looked at him in a minor panic, like a student being asked about a reading he hadn’t done. Jaskier waved his hand.

“No, not necessary, I’ll be headed back soon. But first I need you to do something for me.”

“Yes, of course,” said Geralt.

Jaskier scooted his chair in and looked at the witcher meaningfully.

“Geralt. You have to tell me about these dreams and visions.”

Geralt’s face closed again. It was like a gate slamming down.

“Hmmmm.”

It was a growl that time.

“That’s just it. I’m really going to need you to talk to me,” said Jaskier. “With words.”

Geralt examined the cracks in the table surface, scowling.

“Ok. Looks like that’s all I can do here then,” said Jaskier with a performatively regretful sigh. He scooted his chair away from the table and got up to leave.

“No. Please. Jaskier.” said Geralt. The witcher’s hand darted out to catch his wrist. “Please. Sit.” He pulled Jaskier back to the chair.

Jaskier sat down again. He arranged his doublet and folded his hands, looking expectant.

Geralt breathed deeply. He spoke slowly. Halting.

“Every night now. I dream.”

“Yes?”

“I dream that Ciri is....torn apart by a griffin.”

“That sounds horrible’” said Jaskier. “I’m so sorry.”

Geralt grimaced in agreement.

“It is. And some nights it’s a basilisk. But they always...”

His throat caught.

“Tear her apart.”

Jaskier located a pitcher and cup on a nearby counter and poured him some water.

Now that Geralt was talking, Jaskier could take out his parchment again. But he knew he wouldn’t need notes for this. And he saw now that the man’s reticence wasn’t due to mere stubbornness. He was distressed.

Geralt took a sip of the water.

“You’re doing great.” Jaskier said. “And the visions?” he asked. “Can you tell me about those?”

Geralt cleared his throat.

“They’re waking visions. When we’re walking along the bluffs on the way to the town, I see her slipping and plunging to her death. Over and over. Clear as day. Ciri allows me to hold her hand when we pass so that I know she’s ok, but...I still see it.” His hands were resting on the table balled into fists.

“Gods, that’s terrible.” said Jaskier. He didn’t know the man from Adam but he was having the powerful urge to squeeze his hand.

“Any others?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose. “When we’re training. I see visions. Of her not being prepared. Of her being on a battlefield. And she gets...run through with a sword.” His voice fell to a whisper.

“And these fits?” asked Jaskier. “Are you having one now?”

Geralt nodded.

“Did it get worse when you told me about the visions?” Asked Jaskier.

Geralt nodded again. “I think they're connected.”

“Where is the pain the worst?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt took his hand. Jaskier was surprised, but successfully stifled any indication of it. Geralt guided Jaskier’s hand to his breastbone. He was squeezing a little too hard and Jaskier’s knuckles cracked.

“Here.” Said Geralt, voice husky. He pressed Jaskier’s hand to the center of his chest. Then he dropped it and looked flustered.

Jaskier left his hand on the table, just in case the witcher wanted to take it again.

“Geralt.”

“Yes?”

“How long have you been suffering these visions? And pains?” Jaskier asked.

“Two months maybe.” He said.

“Isn’t that about how long Ciri has been here?”

Geralt sat perturbed for a moment. Then his forehead relaxed and his eyes filled with recognition.

Jaskier’s job was done here.

“I didn’t want to tell you this.” Said Geralt. “I didn’t want to tell anyone.”

Jaskier nodded solemnly. “I understand. It’s hard to be vulnerable--”

“But Ciri is a source,” continued Geralt, frantically, as though he’d finally found the answer. He jabbed the table with his index finger. “Elder blood carrier. Could her magic be having some effect on me? Fuck. Fuck. Like the paprika?”

Dear sweet merciful Melitele.

“Like an allergy???” Jaskier had lost his careful diplomatic tone. He sounded openly incredulous. Geralt did not notice.

“What am I gonna do?” Demanded Geralt, searching Jaskier’s face.

“It’s. Not like the paprika.” Said Jaskier helplessly.

“Shit.” Said Geralt. “I am so fucked. I am so bad at this as it is. Look at me?! I grunt instead of speak. I can’t do her hair. This carrot cake is for her birthday which was last week because I didn’t know birthdays were fuckin important. The only stories I know are full of violence or lusty maidens. I know I shouldn’t be telling her these stories at bedtime but what do you do when that’s all you know?! Now I can’t tolerate her magic? Her very blood? Are there wards? Antidotes? Is there anything I can do??” He tried to catch his breath.

Every shred of witcher mystique fell away. In its place was this man. Struggling. Trying. Lost. Jaskier’s heart tightened. He covered Geralt's hands in his. Golden eyes flicked up to meet him.

“Geralt.” Said Jaskier. “Please breathe. I know exactly what is going on here. Everything is going to be ok.”

Geralt heaved a sigh of relief. His breath still wavered.

“Thank the gods,” he said with conviction.

“Witchers don’t grow up with their parents right?” Asked Jaskier.

“No.”

“Do you even know yours, Geralt?”

“No. What has that got to do—”

“Just. Please. Humor me.” Insisted Jaskier.

“Ok. Ok fine.” Said Geralt.

“This. All of this. The nightmares. Visions. Anxiety manifesting as pain,” said Jaskier.

“Yes?”

“It’s just part of being a parent, dear man.”

“No,” said Geralt and shook his head emphatically. “That’s not what this is. I know it. It is bad magics. Sorcery.”

“I’m afraid not,” said Jaskier gently. “You are suffering from an acute condition called being a parent.”

“But. I’ve never felt like this. I feel. Crazy.” Insisted Geralt.

Jaskier shrugged. “That’s exactly how both of my parents described it. Love to the point of insanity. Potent, that.”

“I’ve loved before.” Said Geralt. “It isn’t like I’ve never loved.”

“Yes but now your will to live depends on your child’s wellbeing. And the thing you believe to be your only job is actually impossible.”

“What is impossible?”

“Protecting her.”

“I can protect her.” Geralt sounded slightly outraged.

“Oh Geralt. That’s not how it works. We all have to take the hits life deals us. Look at your beautiful scars.”

Geralt looked at his shoulders and absently touched his arms.

“I know there was someone who wished they could’ve protected you from those.”

“But Ciri—“ he started.

“Geralt, you can’t protect Ciri from life or from hurt. You can’t be there every second. You aren’t a god. But everything inside you will scream that it’s your job. Your only job. It’s the cruelest joke the gods have ever played. It’s a trap.”

“Fuck.” Uttered Geralt.

“I know.” Jaskier squeezed Geralt’s hands and let them go. Geralt shook his head slowly.

“What IS my job then?”

“Not to protect her from the world. To help her to live in it.”

“This is hard.” Said Geralt simply. "Shit."

“Yes,” said Jaskier. “It is. But it’s also wonderful right? That’s what my parents said. Unless they were lying to me, and I provided unmitigated misery my entire youth.”

Geralt eyes widened. “No! No of course they weren’t. It’s wonderful too.”

“Good. Good.” said Jaskier. “Tell me something wonderful then.”

“There’s a lot.” Said Geralt. “Like, when she gives me her hand. Just puts her little hand in mine for no reason. I could be leading her anywhere, you know? To anyone. For any purpose. She wouldn’t even know.”

His voice was bursting at the seams with wonder. Jaskier glanced down. Geralt’s hands had let go of their fists.

“But she follows me.” He said. “She looks at me with her big blue eyes and just. Puts her life in my hands. Trusts that I’m good. For no reason. She just does.” Geralt smiled deeply and everything on his face crinkled.

“She loves you.” said Jaskier. “And I think she’s right about you too.” Jaskier met Geralt’s eyes and returned the warm smile.

“And I would bet” Jaskier continued, “that to a little girl who’s lost everything, a carrot cake from her father makes all the difference no matter when he makes it. I also bet that she thinks your bedtime stories are exciting. And you can be taught to braid. “

Geralt rubbed his face and leaned back. His eyes were watery.

“Thank you, Jaskier. You probably think I’m an idiot.”

“I think you’re precious.”

Geralt threw his head back and laughed. It was a magnificent sound.

“You’d be the first.”

“Oh I very much doubt that.” Jaskier said.

Geralt cleared his throat. “I’m just so ignorant.”

“Look. So am I.” said Jaskier. “Before I came here, I thought witchers were enigmas. Unknowable.”

Geralt chuckled and wiped his eyes.

“But you’re just a big old mess. Like any new father.”

“Yeah.”

“I know they do trials that are supposed to dim your emotions. Perhaps you should notify them that the trials are defective.”

Geralt’s shoulder shook with laughter again. Jaskier joined him. He laughed until his sides ached.

“What do I do? I _am_ a mess.” Geralt asked.

“Let’s see.” said Jaskier. “Do you know how to meditate?

“Yes. I used to. But since she came, I’ve been so busy.”

“You need to do that again” said Jaskier. “Also. Try to take a nap. And talk to a friend whenever you’re feeling like this.”

 _Me. He thought. Talk to me_. Too forward.

“Do you have frIends in the area?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt shook his head.

“My friends are scattered to the wind. On the path.”

“Well you always have one at Oxenfurt.”

 _Smooth_.

“But unfortunately, I do need to get back for my evening lecture.”

Geralt stood up so quickly, the chair tipped over.

“Yes, of course, of course.” He turned his face to call up the stairs. “Ciri come say goodbye.”

Ciri appeared at the top of the stairs much too quickly. Her eyes were shining and Jaskier realized she must have heard the entire thing. One thing he remembered about being a child was the constant eavesdropping on adult conversations. She was down the stairs in a heartbeat and threw her arms around Jaskier.

“Thank you.” She squeezed hard and he wheezed. She was strong for a kid.

“No, thank _you_ my dear.” Said Jaskier. “I learned valuable things today that will surely enrich my research.”

“Oh yeah, what?” asked Ciri, looking up at him, all freckles and wide eyes.

“That Geralt of Rivia is a handsome devil and has the most charming daughter on the continent.”

Ciri broke out into a gleeful smile and turned to look at Geralt. Witchers shouldn’t be able to blush. But the tips of Geralt’s ears were crimson.

“Sometimes theory just doesn’t teach you everything, child, remember that.” Jaskier said in his best professorly voice. “Now. Show me to the door, good lady?” He looked at Geralt. “Goodbye Geralt. And I mean it. Come find me anytime.”

“Thank you. Travel safe.” Said Geralt. He was still red, but quite clearly also pleased. Jaskier winked at him. He thought the witcher would melt from embarrassment. It was utterly adorable.

Jaskier allowed himself to be ushered out. Ciri walked him to the gate, one arm linked in his, the other swinging. She chattered as they walked, telling him all about the flowers and the birds and the cottage.

When they reached the gate, he turned and took her shoulders.

“Have a wonderful evening Ciri. I shall now regretfully take my leave.”

“Wait.” She said. “Before you go. Can you help me with this?” She waved at her messy hair. “Do you know how to braid?”

“Yes of course sweetheart. I actually find it quite soothing.”

She turned around and he plaited a quick braid. As he smoothed the last tendrils, he noticed Geralt was standing at the door watching. Jaskier waved. Geralt waved back.

“Can we see you again?” Asked Ciri. She took his sleeve and pulled it. He closed his hand over hers.

“It would be my honor. But it’s your father's decision.”

“Ok. I’ll see that he makes the correct one.” Said Ciri confidently.

Jaskier laughed. “I suspect that you will.”

She looked back at Geralt.

“I can tell you helped him.” She said.

“Yes but you helped him more.” Said Jaskier. “So go give him a hug because it physically pained me not to do it myself.”

“I will. And you can always hug him next time.” Said Ciri.

“Indeed.”

After another warm farewell, Jaskier left Ciri to catch the wagon. He would make it back just in time for his lecture. He was rewriting it completely as he walked. It wasn’t that his books had been wrong. They just hadn’t told the whole story. Meeting the witcher had transformed his perspective. As Jaskier had predicted, meeting Geralt of Rivia had changed everything.


	2. Persistent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “These are all letters from Professor Pankratz,” she said, “asking to interview a witcher.” 
> 
> Geralt sifted through them. Each page was full of hopeful flourishes. Each letter heaped honorifics and praise on Vesemir and expressed overwrought humility and a request to interview a witcher. Any witcher. 
> 
> He remembered the letters. He just hadn’t thought about them in awhile. 
> 
> “Yes,” said Geralt. “He wrote to Kaer Morhen. That’s how I knew who he was and where to find him.”
> 
> “So,” said Ciri. “He asked you like ten times for an interview. And you ignored him.” She sounded like she was speaking to a child, not the other way around. 

Geralt 

Ciri was relentless.

She was persistent with her training. That part was good. She seemed to truly come alive on the makeshift training course he’d built behind the cottage. She was agile. Swift. Clever. So small but powerful. She was going to be formidable.

“My destiny is to be a witcher,” she would remind Geralt with regularity, especially when he asked her to take out the trash or clean up her room.

“Witchers do chores,” Geralt said. “Do you see any servants around?”

But her relentless nature was most prominent in the matter of Professor Pankratz. Jaskier. Ever since the man with the bright eyes and the mischievous smile had visited their cottage, she’d found every opportunity to bring him into conversation.

When Geralt brought out a new weapon for training:“Do you think Professor Pankratz has one of these? He’d probably want one. He studies witchers after all.”

When she caught him writing in his journal:“I bet Professor Pankratz would want to read your notes on my training. I bet it would help his studies.”

Geralt tried to be responsive but noncommittal. “I don’t know if he does. He might.” And, “I’m sure he doesn’t need my journals. He has a library.”

Not that Geralt didn’t think of the man. He did. He thought of him too much. Jaskier had been kind and patient. The tight squeeze of his hands had made all of Geralt’s ragged pieces slot into place. He had also been beautiful. Geralt, despite his emotional turmoil, had noticed how soft Jaskier’s lips were, how his smile sparkled. How his cheeks were flushed and begged to be cupped as he was kissed.

But when Geralt pictured meeting Jaskier again, anxiety stopped him cold. Last time, Geralt had practically fallen apart in front of the man. And that was just the beginning of it. Geralt had dragged the man out to his cottage to look for a phantom curse. What kind of person mistakes normal human emotions for a curse?

He almost cringed inside out when he thought of it. It made him want to crawl into a hole. But then of course, he wanted to drag Jaskier into the hole with him and kiss him decisively. Geralt was conflicted. So when Ciri challenged him, he would change the subject or turn away to discourage her. 

A kid couldn’t understand that he felt utterly raw and exposed; that he wanted to hunker under a shell like a deeply embarrassed tortoise. 

So he put her off. She’d huff or groan but then she’d be distracted by something else. 

But one day she focused tenaciously. Geralt was washing one of two earthenware plates they owned, and she approached him, growling little frustrated child growls and shaking a stack of parchment at him. 

“Dad,” she said. It sounded like an accusation.

He spun around. “What did I do now?” he said good naturedly, wiping his hands on a towel, and laying it back by the washbasin. 

He allowed her to drag him by the hand to the table. She slapped the stack of parchments down on it. 

“What?” he asked.

She gestured at the stack of letters and crossed her arms to wait. She was still in her training breeches and her hair was plastered to her sweaty face.

“Well, shit. Ok, Princess,” he said.

He picked up the parchment on top of the stack and ran his eyes over the looping blue ink. It took a moment for it to sink in. Ciri was tapping her foot.

“These are all letters from Professor Pankratz,” she said, “asking to interview a witcher.” 

Geralt sifted through them. Each page was full of hopeful flourishes. Each letter heaped honorifics and praise on Vesemir and expressed overwrought humility and a request to interview a witcher. Any witcher. 

He remembered the letters. He just hadn’t thought about them in awhile. 

“Yes,” said Geralt. “He wrote to Kaer Morhen. That’s how I knew who he was and where to find him.”

“So,” said Ciri. “He asked you like ten times for an interview. And you ignored him.” She sounded like she was speaking to a child, not the other way around. 

Geralt shrugged and ran a hand through his hair.“Well. Yes. I didn’t want to be studied like a scientific specimen.” 

“What do you mean?” asked Ciri.

“I didn’t want to be treated like some rat in a laboratory to be poked and prodded. I’ve had enough of that for a lifetime, Ciri. For ten lifetimes.” 

“Ok,” said Ciri. “But then you went to ask him for help.” 

“True. True,” said Geralt. “I was desperate.”

“And did he treat you like that?” asked Ciri. “Like a rat?”

Quite the opposite. Jaskier had looked at him like a person. In fact, Jaskier had looked at Geralt like he were the _only_ person.

“Well, no,” said Geralt. 

“And he helped you,” said Ciri. 

“Yes,” admitted Geralt. Jaskier hadn’t helped him in the way he expected. But he’d helped him in the way he needed.

“And did you give him his interview?” Ciri pressed on. “At least? After he helped you?”

Ciri knew the answer to that. She was just being smart.

Geralt sighed. She had a point. He wasn’t quite ready to admit defeat to this slight, accusing child though.

“He did interview me, though, right? Kind of? He asked me questions,” Geralt said. 

“No!” said Ciri. “He asked you questions you wanted to know! About your feelings!?” 

Geralt flushed. “Hmmmm.”

“Well?” she asked. “Let’s go to the academy and give him his interview. I could help too. I bet he would want to talk to the very first girl witcher.” Her chest puffed proudly.

Geralt grimaced. “Ah, Ciri. It’s complicated.” 

“That’s just something adults say when they don’t want to answer you,” she huffed. 

“Yes, well, children just think everything is simple all the time.”

“Isn’t it?” she asked. 

“He doesn’t want to see me.” Geralt knew that was a lie when he said it. Jaskier had literally winked at him. But Ciri wouldn’t know that.

“Liar! He wants to see you! It’s obvious!! He wants to hug you and he wants to kiss you!”

Geralt planted his hands on his hips.“What the hell do you know about that?” 

She slightly turned up her pert nose. “He said so.”

“He what??” asked Geralt. 

“Well, he said he wanted to hug you. I figured out the rest,” Ciri said. 

The thought of kissing Professor Pankratz was very intriguing indeed. But Geralt couldn’t help the embarrassment that had made him shrink from the thought of meeting the man again. And it wasn’t that he even believed Jaskier thought poorly of him. If anything, his extreme, disarming comfort with Geralt’s feelings was a revelation. 

But he just wasn’t used to it, and it poked at his tender sense of self. He wasn’t the kind of man who burdened complete strangers with his troubles. Besides, he told himself, there was no way the aplomb with which Jaskier handled his melting emotions was sincere. He must have been thinking Geralt was a moron on some level.

“Ciri,” he said. “Go take your bath.” He put his hands on her shoulders and spun her around, gently nudging her towards the back door where the big copper tub sat full and waiting for her. 

“Fine,” she called over her shoulder. “But don’t think I’m gonna forget about this, just because you’re ignoring me.” 

“I’ll think about it,” he called after her. 

\--------------

“Well?” asked Ciri.

Geralt sat at the table, scribbling notes from their training session that day. Ciri was making progress on the obstacle course and had managed to land her first hit on the scarecrow during her pendulum exercise. He felt a distinct swell of pride. This was a girl who knew how to get back up when she was knocked down.

“Well, what?” he said absently.

“Can we go see Jaskier?” she asked. “We’re going to market in town tomorrow. The academy is right there.”

Geralt rubbed his temple. “Why are you obsessed with this?” he asked. 

“I’m not obsessed. I’m just persistent,” she said proudly.

He should have never taught her that word. 

“And because. He made you happy. And you want to kiss him.”

Geralt let his hands drop on the table and he looked up.“How do you know who I want to kiss?” he said.

She shrugged. “I just know about things like this.” 

“You do?” he said, humoring her. 

“Yes,” she said. “When he touched your hand you liked it, I could tell. And when he said to come see him, your ears turned pink.”

“Were you spying on us?” asked Geralt, in mock offense.

“Yes,” she said. “I was.” She said it with no compunction at all. 

He pulled her in close and he kissed her freckled cheek. “I’ll think about it,” he said. 

\-----------

The next morning, Geralt roused Ciri for the market. She came downstairs and tucked into the eggs he’d fried for her. He drank his coffee and watched her, taking a moment to relax.

“Are you going to get dressed?” she said around a mouthful of eggs, glancing up at him appraisingly. 

“I am dressed,” he said. He looked down at his brown linen tunic and black breeches.

Ciri frowned and knit her eyebrows until a little furrow appeared in the center of her forehead. She shoveled another bite of eggs into her mouth as she looked at him intensely. 

“What?” asked Geralt. He patted his chest and arms, expecting to find some rip or tear. 

“Those are the same clothes you wore to train me yesterday,” she said. 

“And?” he asked. 

She shook her head decisively. “No.” Ciri stood up and held out her hand. 

“What?” he asked.

He allowed Ciri to drag him to his room. As soon as they entered it, she attacked his wardrobe. She pulled out several articles of clothing and laid them out carefully on the bed. 

“Here. These are nice,” she pronounced. 

Geralt surveyed the blue velvet doublet with the gray trim and the gray trousers.“I last wore those to a royal court,” he said. “I’m going to market.” 

“Yes, but we’re going to see Jaskier after the market.” 

Geralt groaned. “I don’t even know where to find him.”

“Oh, that’ll be easy,” said Ciri. “We’ll find him. And you see how he dressed? He looked beautiful. It was green. You want to look beautiful too, don’t you? When you see him?” 

“Hmmmm,” said Geralt. “I only know that I’m _not_ wearing those clothes to market, and that’s _final._ ”

\---------

Several moments later after Geralt buttoned the last button on the blue velvet doublet, he glimpsed himself in the mirror. He was certain he looked ridiculous.

“You look so handsome!” crowed Ciri. She smiled so wide, that Geralt was glad he’d relented. Even if he did look like a preening rooster.

“The things I do for you, little one.” He shook his head.

“For Jaskier,” she said.

For Jaskier. The man who had to think he was an idiot. But certainly didn’t seem to.

——

They rode to town on their horses. Geralt was on Roach and Ciri on Kelpie. When they arrived at market, Geralt browsed a few stalls, then purchased a whetstone and some rope. They couldn’t carry it back on the horses, but the merchant would bring it by on his wagon the next trip out of the city.

Geralt didn’t know if he hoped Ciri would forget about finding Jaskier, or if she would remember. There was no denying that he felt a flutter in his stomach when he thought of the handsome professor. But part of him still wanted to flee on Roach and hide away in his cottage.

But when they passed the message boards in the town plaza, she was the first to spot it. A notice for a lecture on witchers. It gave a time and place, though it seemed the lecture was almost over.

“Ooh! I want to learn about witchers!” squeaked Ciri.

“You LIVE with a witcher,” Geralt reminded her.

“I AM a witcher,” said Ciri. “But I want to know more and you barely tell me anything.”

“Alright,” said Geralt. “We’ll catch the end.”

They speed walked through the streets, and Geralt turned off his panicked thoughts. They were doing this. Jaskier hadn’t judged him. He’d even seemed charmed. What was the worst that could happen? He could see Jaskier again and his heart would be glad. That was safe. That was fine.

“Dad,” said Ciri, when they reached the door of the lecture hall.

Geralt’s hand was poised on the handle. He turned to look at her, eyebrows raised.“What?” he asked urgently.

“Don’t scowl at him.”

Geralt tilted his head and opened his eyes wider, looking askance.“Anything else, Princess?? To put me even more at ease?”

“Yes!” she hissed. “Try to say words, rather than grunts.”

Geralt sucked in his cheeks. “Sooooo, what you are saying, Ciri, is try not to be myself?”

Ciri sighed. “You’re right. You were grumpy when you met him and he liked you. Ok.” She nodded and smiled. “Just be yourself.”

“Well, thank you, Princess, for your permission.”

She nodded sagely.

Geralt pulled the door open slowly, slipping in without a sound. Geralt saw Jaskier and his stomach fluttered like an adolescent. That was...concerning.

It’s not that he’d forgotten how handsome Jaskier was. Even the first time he saw him, cranky and sleep deprived, his brain had registered his beauty. He just had been so preoccupied. Later, when Jaskier had arrived at his house with his wire rimmed glasses and his saucy smile, Geralt had almost swooned. 

But again, Geralt had been somewhat distracted by his own emotional minidrama. Now, seeing him again, this time in his element, and in yet a different color that made his eyes yet a different shade of blue, made his knees weak. He was being ridiculous. He quickly found two seats in the back row for him and Ciri.

Jaskier walked the stage in front casually, with one hand in his pocket. With the other, he gestured broadly. His outfit was tailored impeccably and showed off his tall, slender frame. His wire rimmed glasses perched on his nose, and his hair was swept from his face in waves. Geralt had no idea how any student learned anything under these conditions.

When Jaskier saw him, he froze, and his words hung in the air. Half of the class turned around to look. Then Jaskier smiled radiantly and it was like looking at the sun sparkling down a waterfall. Even after Geralt had wasted his time, had been vulnerable and emotionally inept, that’s the smile Jaskier had for him. A blinding, joyful one.

Jaskier continued on his lecture with renewed vigor.

“Yes, Antoine,” said Jaskier, pointing to a young man in the front. “What is your question?”

“Yes, professor,” began Antoine, clearing his throat and sounding as though he wanted to impress, “in terms of species classification, how would you categorize witchers? They begin as a normal human, and they are mutated. So are they humanoid, like an elf or a dwarf? Do they become something else entirely?”

“Oh, Antoine, my esteemed Antoine,” said Jaskier. “I am no natural biologist. Just a humble historian and poet. But I suppose I would ask you, how do you define human?”

Antoine shifted in his seat. “Empathy, I suppose,” he continued. “And it is widely thought that the trials dampen their empathetic responses so that they may more easily slay monsters.”

Jaskier theatrically stroked his chin in thought. He walked a few paces, then spun to answer.“I would question whether ‘ _human’_ can be used synonymously with ‘empathy’, or whether indeed, humans can properly be used as the standard for the same."

He threw his arms wide.

“After all, it was humans who invented witcher trials, which killed almost nine of ten children who were forced into them. And it was humans who laid siege to the keep at Kaer Morhen, ambushing the people they themselves created, killing them in cold blood."

The classroom grew quiet.

“So while I can categorically and personally attest,” Jaskier theatrically waved his arms, “to the fact that witchers are in full possession of empathy and kindness, please, you heard it here first, what matters in the end, is _not_ how we categorize them, but how we _treat_ them. For if we wish to continue to use ourselves as the standard for empathy,” Jaskier slowed his speech and raised his voice, punctuating each word, “we should _begin to earn it_.”

Geralt had never heard such a stirring defense of witchers outside of Kaer Morhen several pints deep with his brothers. It felt like a little bit of home in a place where he fit like a square bolt in a circular hole. 

And hearing his emotional break down being described positively, as empathy and kindness, that was a relief too.

This man just kept accepting him, with all of his mess. He had to be careful, or he would get used to it.

Another student shot up his hand.

“Yes, Randall,” said Jaskier, pointing to the student. Geralt could only see him from behind. He had a crop of black hair and looked stocky.

“Professor,” he said. “If they are humanoid, how do they mate? Do they mate with humans?”

Ciri tittered next to him. So did a few students.

“Ah, Randall. Or should I say, _Randy?”_

The students giggled. Randy did too.

“I appreciate that. Lightening the mood. Asking the important questions. The question after my own heart.” Jaskier prowled the stage.“The answer to that is, let us all hope so, if nothing else, for my own sake.”

The students giggled and laughed at the innuendo, but they couldn’t possibly know why Jaskier would say such a thing.

But Geralt flushed pink as Jaskier caught his eye across the hall and winked rakishly.

The lecture was over then and Jaskier reminded the students of several key assignments and dates.

Geralt sat with Ciri in his lap as the students filed out, talking, joking, and planning their festivities for the evening. Several students stopped to ask Jaskier about exams or assignments, and then they filed out as well.

After Jaskier answered the last question asked by the last student, his serious professor face melted into an eager smile again. Geralt and Ciri stood as he leapt from the stage and up to their seats.

“Geralt and Ciri,” he said with a clap. “What a delightful surprise. You look beautiful, my dear.”

Ciri threw herself at his waist for a tight hug. “I told you I’d do it,” she said looking up at him with a triumphant expression.

“I never doubted you for a moment,” said Jaskier. “Not for a single moment.” He reached for Geralt’s hand and he shook it.

“And you look...utterly gorgeous.” His eyes roamed Geralt shamelessly.

Geralt’s ears pinked.

“I picked out his clothes,” said Ciri puffing proudly.

“Your taste is impeccable, Ciri,” said Jaskier.

“Told you,” said Ciri, nudging Geralt with her elbow.

Geralt couldn’t find his tongue to say thank you. Accepting compliments had never been his strong suit. And he didn’t know that anyone had ever looked him in the eye and called him “utterly gorgeous” with such verve and confidence. 

“I’m overdressed,” he mumbled and tugged at his doublet for the hundredth time that day.

“Nonsense,” said Jaskier authoritatively. “My lectures are important occasions. If I had it my way, my students would attend in robes. Now, to what do I owe this pleasure?” 

He said it so warmly that Geralt sincerely believed that this was the greatest pleasure of his day.

“Well,” he said, “we came to the city for the market and thought we’d come see you.” He did his best to keep his voice solid and not eager, but he didn’t think he entirely succeeded.

“Wonderful,” said Jaskier.

“Ciri dug out some old letters you’d written to Kaer Morhen--”

Jaskier’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. “You got those?”

“I did,” said Geralt. “It’s how I knew to find you. And she reminded me that since you helped me so much, I should return the favor.”

Jaskier looked at Ciri. “Clever girl. And of course I’d want to interview you. The White Wolf, and the continent’s first girl witcher.”

Geralt didn’t bother protesting the nickname this time. He was rather growing to enjoy it. And Ciri was positively beaming.

“We have to ride back before it gets dark,” said Geralt. “But we could come back to your office in the morning.”

“No, no. Nonsense,” said Jaskier. “These questions are far more liable to meet with scientifically accurate answers when asked over dinner at a charming cottage in the countryside.” He smiled innocently.

Ciri tugged Geralt’s hand. “Invite him,” she whispered so loudly that a stage actor would envy the distance it carried.

“Professor,” said Geralt. “Did you just invite yourself to our home?” 

He had taken the leap to join in the teasing, but his heart stood still for several seconds in terror that he had misread. That fear was quickly put to bed.

“If the idea offends you, sir witcher, then I was absolutely not inviting myself, simply explaining the scientific approach to my research. But if you are friendly to the idea, then yes. Yes, I was.”

“Ah, I see,” said Geralt. He nodded solemnly. “Then we’ll see you tomorrow? Dinner time?”

“Splendid,” said Jaskier. And he lit up in another one of his genuine, sweet smiles that Geralt worried had already seized and hog tied his heart.

He turned to leave, but he had reached the door before he realized Ciri was not with him. 

He turned back to see Ciri hugging Jaskier again.

“Come on, girl, it’s almost sunset.”

“Run along, lovely lady,” said Jaskier, and kissed her on the head.

The ride home was the dreamiest and shortest Geralt could remember it ever being.


	3. Dinner and a Few Important Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier cleared his throat. “My last question of the evening is, how do you, sir witcher, feel about floppy haired academics. And would you possibly consider allowing one to court you?”
> 
> Geralt blushed mightily
> 
> “Please keep in mind,” continued Jaskier, “that he possesses a modest home in the city, an unimpressive fortune, and is from mediocre stock.” He put down his notebook and gestured as though he were lecturing. “We are talking extremely minor nobility. Frankly, the airs he puts on are embarrassing at best.”
> 
> Geralt bit his lip and dragged his eyes up and down Jaskier’s form. He seemed to be gathering himself.
> 
> “Is this floppy haired academic willing to court a witcher with a daughter and perhaps two coins to his name?"
> 
> “He is more than willing. He is enthusiastic. Inappropriately eager, even,” said Jaskier, emphatically.

Geralt bustled around the kitchen. He straightened a fork that had gone astray and spun back to the washbasin to replace a hand rag that had ended up on the table.

He had bathed earlier but sweat had already crawled across his back anew. He wiped his face again.

Ciri bounced from one foot to the other next to him. “When can we eat the pie?”

“After dinner.” 

She groaned.

_Knock knock._

Ciri squealed but Geralt caught her shoulder.

“Stir the gravy so it doesn’t burn. I’ll get the door.”

Her shoulders slumped. “Fine.”

Geralt swung the door open, butterflies fluttering in his gut. He smiled tentatively at the handsome professor in his doorway, framed by the dusk behind him. Jaskier wore his usual wire rimmed glasses. His outfit was even finer than usual, and he had applied a perfume that smelled of cedar and honey.

He clutched a large bouquet of white irises and held them towards Geralt.

“For me?” Geralt asked. He’d never been given flowers. People just didn’t think of flowers when they thought of him.

Jaskier looked thoughtful. “That depends.”

“On what?” Geralt asked. He reached for the flowers. Jaskier offered them, and briefly cupped Geralt’s hand as he did. Geralt felt like a handsome young noble being courted. Incongruous for a witcher, but surprisingly thrilling.

“On whether my tip was reliable.” Jaskier pulled out a crumpled bit of parchment and held it towards Geralt.

Geralt examined it. The writing was childlike and very familiar.

“ _He likes you_.” There were awkward ink splotches at the ends of the H and the U. 

Geralt chuckled and shook his head.

“So is my source reliable?” Jaskier asked, as he folded it up and placed it back in his pocket.

Ciri squealed behind Geralt.

Geralt moved aside. “I told you to stir the gravy.”

She ignored him and threw her arms around Jaskier. Then she grabbed the flowers. “Oooo, these for me?”

“They’re for me,” said Geralt, and caught a satisfied smile on Jaskier’s face out of the corner of his eye. 

Ciri’s eyes lit up knowingly.

Jaskier bowed slightly. “You must share with your father. Can you do that?”

Geralt ruffled her hair. 

“Yes I can,” she said.

“Go find a vase,” said Geralt. He turned back to Jaskier. “Come in. Have a seat, make yourself at home.” He waved to the table. Then he raised his voice in Ciri’s direction. “I have to stir the gravy before it burns.”

She happily rifled through the pottery in a cupboard and blithely ignored his comment.

The table was laden with enough food for a regiment of soldiers. It had taken them all afternoon to prepare it. Geralt had forgotten to ask Jaskier what he liked to eat, so he had just made everything. There was a roast, vegetables, fruit, bread, and pats of butter. There was also a pie sitting on the oven, smelling heavenly.

“I feel like an honored guest indeed,” said Jaskier, as he pulled out a chair and sat.

“I helped with everything,” bragged Ciri from where she was placing the irises in a vase. “And the roast was mostly me.”

Geralt huffed good naturedly. “Sure.”

Jaskier shot him a wink. “This is a spread fit for a king,” said Jaskier. “Your hard work will be savored, Ciri.”

Geralt glanced at Jaskier, who was looking at the fresh rolls as though they had saved his mother’s life.

“Your students would be surprised to find you in the home of an unfeeling brute,” said Geralt. He took his own seat on the other side of the corner from Jaskier.

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “I hope I expanded their horizons somewhat.” He picked up a napkin and flipped it into his lap.

Ciri plopped into the chair across from him and surveyed the table with a contented sigh.

“I think you did,” said Geralt. “Thank you.”

“For what?” asked Jaskier.

“You’re a one man witcher defense squad.” 

Jaskier laughed clear and delighted. “Well. Witchers do enough defending. You deserve your own defense.”

“I’ll drink to that,” said Geralt.

The silverware clattered as they set out their plates and began to serve themselves.

They toasted their evening together with wine and juice. Jaskier oo’ed and ah’ed over every dish passed to him. And after they’d gotten through the main course and all of the usual small talk, Geralt approached the business of the evening.

“Feel free to start your interview, Jaskier.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t possibly,” said Jaskier. “Not yet.”

“Hmmmm,” said Geralt. “I thought you said that dinner at the cottage was the ideal time for your research?”

Ciri looked at Jaskier expectantly. “Yes, I’m ready Jaskier.”

“Hmmm, did I say that?” asked Jaskier. He looked studiously at a potato wedge stuck on his fork. Then he looked up with a professorly air, “What I meant was, brandy in the parlor _after_ dinner was the ideal time to gather accurate research.”

“Professor,” said Geralt.

“Yes, Geralt?” asked Jaskier, popping the potato into his mouth.

“You aren't, by any chance, drawing this out.”

Jaskier theatrically choked on his potato. Then he swallowed with ease. “What? To get into your parlor?” 

“I don’t even have a proper parlor,” said Geralt. He nodded to the one sofa and several wobbly chairs in the other corner of the room.

“Well, that is extremely convenient, because not a one of my intentions could be considered proper.”

Ciri looked from one to the other. “What are you guys talking about?”

“How about some pie?” asked Geralt. He normally waited for her to finish her vegetables, but a change of topic was in order.

It was a berry pie. Jaskier effusively complimented the flaky crust and the freshness of the berries, making ecstatic faces with each bite. When Ciri wanted seconds, he snuck her some of his. After the pie was eaten, Ciri excitedly turned her attention back to the witcher interview.

“Why don’t you ask me questions?” asked Ciri. “I’m ready for my questions. I can’t drink brandy anyway.”

“Very good,” said Jaskier. “Let’s do that then. The Cirilla portion of the interview.”

He pulled out a notebook from his vest and slid his plate back to make room. Geralt found him something to write with.

Jaskier cleared his throat and began with the question Ciri most wanted to answer.

“How does it feel being the very first girl witcher?”

She beamed. “Well, alright I reckon.”

Jaskier asked a series of thoughtful questions and Ciri talked at length. He asked about her training. About nutrition. Herbs, and potions. His questions were specific and reflected a wide breadth of knowledge. And Ciri answered as though she were back in Cintra, holding court. Jaskier listened intently and took copious notes

As Ciri talked, Geralt cleared and wiped the table. He piped in when a question required a trainer’s knowledge. But mostly he just listened. Ciri’s enthusiasm was encouraging. She spoke for fifteen solid minutes about the pendulum.

Part of him wished he could have had this training experience - one that allowed for mistakes and enthusiasm. One without trials or death. But providing a safe training experience to Ciri had the effect of belated comfort.

She talked until her voice began to slow and she began blinking and periodically rubbing her eyes or pausing to yawn.

“Time for bed,” said Geralt.

“Awwwww, no, I want to stay up and talk to Jaskier.”

“Not to worry,” said Jaskier. I’ve got loads more questions. We can always continue this some other time.”

Ciri hugged him and took Geralt’s hand. Jaskier watched them walk away and trudge up the stairs.

He listened with a smile at Geralt’s nighttime story. It did indeed involve violence and was probably a bit spicier than your average children’s nighttime tale, but judging from Ciri’s entranced gasps, it was right down her alley.

Jaskier nosed around the house a little as he waited, then he sat and reviewed his notes. Soon enough Geralt clomped back down the stairs. 

“I’m afraid I don’t have brandy,” he said. “I can bring wine.”

They each still had wine left in their mugs from dinner. Geralt took them from the dinner table and brought them over, setting them on the tiny rickety side table, which was more like a stump.

Jaskier was sitting on the sofa. To avoid Geralt sitting in a chair opposite him, where he wouldn’t be able to reach him, he scooted over and patted the cushion next to him.

Geralt's smile was crooked and a little bashful. But he was undeniably pleased. He accepted the offer and lowered himself next to Jaskier. They were close enough so that if Jaskier leaned forward, he could have slid his hand up Geralt’s thigh.

Not that he was fantasizing about doing just that.

Well. Perhaps he was.

“What questions do you have?” asked Geralt. His gaze was unwavering.

“Only one. I’m hoping to save the rest for further visits,” said Jaskier.

“You don’t need an excuse to come back,” said Geralt. “You’re welcome in my home any time.”

Jaskier clutched his chest. “Sir, are you implying yet again that I am inventing excuses to see you?”

“No, of course not,” said Geralt. He leaned forward and touched Jaskier’s knee. “Never.”

Jaskier’s eyes darted down to Geralt’s fingers. “Oh good, because my research is no joking matter,” said Jaskier.

“Alright, then,” said Geralt, sitting back. “What’s your last question?”

Jaskier pulled his notebook up and examined it reverently. He dramatically adjusted his glasses on the edge of his nose.

“Are those even real?” asked Geralt.

Jaskier peered over them severely and pressed a finger against his own lips. “Shhhh, this is serious business.”

Geralt nodded. “Of course. My deepest apologies.”

Jaskier cleared his throat. “My last question of the evening is, how do you, sir witcher, feel about floppy haired academics. And would you possibly consider allowing one to court you?”

Geralt blushed mightily.

“Please keep in mind,” continued Jaskier, “that he possesses a modest home in the city, an unimpressive fortune, and is from mediocre stock.”

He put down his notebook and gestured as though he were lecturing. “We are talking extremely minor nobility. Frankly, the airs he puts on are embarrassing at best.”

Geralt bit his lip and nodded gravely. He dragged his eyes up and down Jaskier’s form. 

“Is this floppy haired academic willing to court a witcher with a daughter and perhaps two coins to his name?”

“He is more than willing. He is enthusiastic. Inappropriately eager, even,” said Jaskier, nodding emphatically.

His words faded as Geralt leaned forward. He reached for Jaskier’s glasses and lifted them from his nose.

Jaskier grinned wickedly. But he waited for Geralt to place his glasses aside on a table and turn back to him. Jaskier watched him, eyes shining. 

“Perhaps,” said Jaskier, “you could grant him a kiss, and make your decision based on how well he performs.”

“Sounds like a helpful data point,” said Geralt in mock seriousness.

“Oh, splendid,” said Jaskier.

Then Geralt gathered his courage. He cradled Jaskier’s cheek with his hand. It was soft. Jaskier has probably shaved just before he’d arrived. He really was being courted.

Jaskier leaned forward, pressing his plush lips to Geralt’s. 

Geralt reciprocated eagerly, surging forward and sliding his hand to the nape of Jaskier’s neck. Jaskier sighed softly into his lips.

They kissed gently at first, taking time to press tenderly, hands sliding and caressing carefully. But their ardor intensified. Soon all propriety was forgotten. Jaskier scooted closer and threw one leg across Geralt’s lap.

Geralt took advantage of its proximity to reach down and squeeze Jaskier’s thigh, provoking a more urgent moan.

Geralt's kiss grew more heated. He parted Jaskier’s lips with his tongue and cradled his face.

Their breathing grew desperate.

“I KNEW IT,” came the triumphant cry from the top of the staircase.

Jaskier jumped and Geralt pulled back, slumping against the back of the sofa.

Ciri stood in her nightdress grinning from ear to ear. “You TRIED to hide it but I could tell.”

Geralt rubbed his face and turned to Jaskier. “You know about parenting,” he said.

“Nominally,” said Jaskier. He struck a thinking pose, stroking his chin. “And only from the perspective of the child.”

Ciri planted her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes, listening to them intently.

“Still,” said Geralt. “Better than me. So answer me this. Is it bad form to give a child ale to encourage sleep?”

“Sure!” said Ciri. She’d been asking to try ale.

“I have a better idea,” said Jaskier.

He stood and offered his hand to Geralt. Geralt accepted it.

Moments later they were both sitting at Ciri’s bedside. She snuggled under the pile of quilts. Geralt sat at the head of the bed and leaned down to kiss her forehead.

Jaskier sat at the foot of her bed and patted her quilt.

“Would you like a song, sweet Ciri?” asked Jaskier.

“Oooo, yes, please,” she answered.

Jaskier began to sing and Geralt goggled at the precious sounds coming from him. Jaskier sang a classic lullaby and Geralt thought at first to learn it so he could sing it to Ciri. But soon he lost all sense of time, entranced by the beauty of the man and the sincerity of his voice.

Ciri fell asleep to the earthy, angelic sounds. 

Jaskier released the last drifting notes, then looked at Geralt over the sleeping child. Geralt’s hand was absently stroking Ciri’s hair, but the full force of his attention was on Jaskier.

“You’re beautiful,” whispered Geralt, in awe.

“So is that a yes?” Jaskier quirked an eyebrow. “Are you accepting my proposal of courtship?”

Geralt returned his gaze and smiled. “That’s a yes.”

“Brilliant.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> So as I mentioned in the beginning, I wrote this initially as a one-off musing on Geralt parenting after trauma. But firstly, I found out that fics where Geralt and Jaskier are not a couple and do not kiss, do not get many hits. And I get it. Bring the smooches. Also, a few readers who DID take the time to read it asked for more. And I will do anything for a commenter, let me tell you.
> 
> Two, I received a stroke of inspiration from my five year old niece. We were watching Avatar the Last Airbender and she was just obsessed with the pairings. ("HE likes HER, Auntie. And SHE likes HIM. OH MY GOSH THIS EPISODE HAS KISSING). It was hilarious. She wanted to know how many boyfriends Katara could have. 
> 
> For the record, I told her that as long as the everyone knows and is cool with it, she can have as many boyfriends (or girlfriends) that she wants. lolol. Then after the episode was over, my niece asked ME if I have feelings for (redacted). I demurred of course. I'm not telling her my business. LOL. So then she said that SHE thought I did, and therefore, I should therefore kiss (redacted). I was like, smh this little busybody. 
> 
> And I used her as my stand in for Ciri. XD And so for the last 4 1/2 months I've been working on chapters 2 and 3 between WIPs. Just a word here and there and here we are.
> 
> Then my last chapter of my WIP Posada Remix ended on a sad note, and I felt I should offer this unrelenting fluff. (Posada Remix is 90% softness and will end soft, but last chapter was a bit rough. So if you read that, consider this your shot of fluff to hold you over.)
> 
> Thank you to @MandaLynn04 and @greeneyedfan for their generous and supportive feedback. (that's my beta thanks for chapter 1)
> 
> If you enjoyed, consider  
> [subscribing to me](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Descarada/profile) so you don't miss updates!
> 
> Also, if you'd like to find me on socials (send me a prompt, and ask, whatever, I'm v chatty):
> 
> Twitter: [buffysummers10](https://twitter.com/BuffySummers10)
> 
> Tumblr: [fangirleaconmigo](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/fangirleaconmigo)  
> Thanks to my AMAZING GENEROUS KIND PATIENT betas for the whole work.
> 
> [LovelyRita1967](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovelyRita1967/works) who writes sexy, sweet Geraskier (and Eskel/Lambert) romcoms and
> 
> [MandaLynn04](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MandaLynn04/pseuds/MandaLynn04/works) who writes sexy sweet Witcher cast rpfs.
> 
> If you are interested in either of those kinds of fics, check them out.
> 
> Thanks for reading. Don’t be shy to comment, I love to talk about our boys.


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